A Sword Upon The Rose (29 page)

Alana heard her every word and gasped, as Iain shoved each of her sisters in turn through the small door. “Lady Joan!” he barked.

She came running to him then, while a commotion began on the castle walls. Dozens of soldiers appeared, staring down at them in confusion. And then Joan and Iain, followed by his two men, were safely outside. As they ran from the castle, a dozen of his mounted warriors galloped up to them to protect them from Elgin’s archers. But no arrows were fired at them.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

W
HEN
THEY
WERE
safely in the midst of Iain’s men, dozens upon dozens of mounted soldiers between the women and the enemy soldiers atop Elgin’s walls, Alana sank to the ground. She began to shake wildly.

Sir Alexander was dead. She would never see him again. But he had told her that he loved her, and that he always had.

Buchan had almost succeeded in abducting Alice, in her own stead. Alana and Iain were so very fortunate to have escaped Elgin with their lives. As she realized that, she heard the battering ram striking the castle’s front gates. Iain had renewed the siege.

Swarms of arrows whizzed in the air as the archers upon the ramparts began firing back at Iain’s army.

A man screamed as he was struck.

Alana looked away from the battle, deciding they were at a safe distance from it. Alice and then Margaret collapsed on the grassy ground beside her, breathing hard. Margaret gazed at her fearfully. Alana took her hand, which was trembling, thinking not about the war, but about their father. She would never know him now, not truly. They would never become close. She glanced at Alice.

“I am sorry,” Alice whispered, her eyes filled with tears. “That I said those terrible things to you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Alana said hoarsely.

“It matters. It matters very much. You loved our father, too.”

“I did.” Alana trembled. “Why? Why did he love you and Margaret more than me? Why did he raise you, but not me?”

More tears filled Alice’s eyes. “I don’t know.”

“It was because of my wishes.” Joan stood above them, devoid of all color, her eyes bleak with grief, with hopelessness.

Alana wanted to hug herself, but Margaret would not release her hand. She squeezed it harder, instead.

“Elisabeth was more than my cousin, she was my friend. We both loved him, but he was my betrothed. When I found out, I hated her,” Joan said. She dropped to her knees. “And I blamed her, not Alexander, for their affair.” She shrugged. “Alexander had no choice. I gave him no choice. He was not allowed to bring you into our lives.”

Alana realized she was crying.

“You sent Iain of Islay after Alice,” Joan said unsteadily. “And you went with him. Why?”

Alana bit her lip, shaking her head. “She is my sister.” She glanced at Alice and their gazes locked.

Surprised, Alice said, “You sent Iain to rescue me? After all the hateful things I said? After how I have treated you?”

“Yes,” Alana whispered.

“But you love him,” Alice cried. “And you sent him into the enemy’s lair—and you went yourself—for me.”

Alana nodded. “I could not leave you behind,” she said.

A silence fell over the group, but the sounds of the battle intensified around them. Joan sat down, seeming exhausted. Alice quickly put her arm around her. “I miss him,” Joan whispered.

“We all do,” Alice said unsteadily.

Margaret continued to grip Alana’s hand. “Will we go back to Brodie?” she whispered.

Alana stared at her, certain she was thinking about the fact that they were Iain’s prisoners once again. She recalled the promise she had made to her father—to keep her sisters and his wife safe. Grief flooded her. She closed her eyes, determined to keep her vow.

“Alana.”

Iain’s voice caused her to jerk and look upward. He sat astride his huge warhorse. “I am sending ye back to Brodie with six of my men.”

She stood up slowly. Her limbs felt useless and weak. “Brodie is hours from here—we do not need such a large escort.” She did not want to deplete his forces.

He suddenly slid down from his horse, took her arm and began walking her away from the other women. “I want ye safely home.”

She trembled and clasped his cheek. “Thank you for going back for Alice.”

His eyes darkened. “When I come to Brodie, ye will explain to me why ye defied my command.”

She grimaced. He was referring to her taking her sisters to see Sir Alexander at Elgin, against his explicit orders. “I am too tired to argue.”

He seized her chin and kissed her hard on the lips. “I will come when I can.”

She tensed, sick with dismay, with dread. “Will Elgin fall? And after Elgin, then what?”

“Until Buchan surrenders, or is killed, we will war on the north.” He was final.

She somehow nodded, knowing that if he had not had to get her out of harm’s way, he would have killed Buchan when they were inside Elgin. She realized the sacrifice he had made for her sake.

For one moment, his stare held hers, and then he turned and leaped effortlessly astride his stallion. He galloped toward his soldiers and into the fray of shouting men, whistling arrows and frantic horses.

* * *

A
NOTHER
NIGHT
HAD
fallen, this one bright with stars and a crescent moon. Alana stood outside upon the ramparts of the watchtower, filled with grief over Sir Alexander’s death.

They had arrived at Brodie in the early afternoon. Alana had gone into Eleanor’s arms, finally allowing herself genuine tears. Joan, Alice and Margaret had retired to their bedchamber. They had not come out since.

Alana wiped her eyes. She had so many questions now, and not just about her father’s choice to surrender to Joan’s dictums, but about his life.

She wiped her eyes again, as a wolf howled, perhaps from a nearby ridge. And she thought of Iain, whom she already missed terribly.

He did not die by Buchan’s sword, and she thanked God. She thought about her vision—it had been as accurate as all of the other ones she had had. In it, she had never seen Buchan murder Iain. He had merely been poised to do so. She could not help wondering if her vision had come so that she could warn Iain—saving his life for the second time.

But there was danger still. Buchan lived. He would seek to destroy Iain again—just as Iain sought to destroy him.

She wanted to know how the battle for Elgin had gone that day. She hoped Iain would send her word, and soon. God, if only Buchan would surrender or die, so this terrible war could end, so they could pick up the pieces of their shattered lives.

But then what? She did not want to really consider the future—for in it, Iain might wed her sister, and Bruce had promised her another man as a husband.

The wolf howled again. It was a cool April evening, and Alana turned and went down the stairs, crossing the courtyard. Iain was probably inside his tent, drinking wine and planning the next day’s siege. She wondered if he missed her as much as she did him.

She entered the hall. It was empty.

It was so strange, being home at Brodie without Godfrey. Somehow, he had become her best friend.

What would Duncan do to his own son for his treachery? Worse, what would Buchan do? She would never forgive herself if he came to serious harm, because of her.

Alana started upstairs. Everyone was asleep, and the castle was stunningly silent. In her chamber, she shed her mantle, closed the shutters and put on a sleeping gown. She was too tired to braid her hair, and she left it down. However, in spite of her exhaustion, she did not think she would sleep at all that night.

“Alana?”

She whirled at the sound of Alice’s voice. Her sister stood in the doorway, dressed for bed, her eyes red from weeping. Alana had the urge to rush to her and take her into her arms. But she did not move.

Such an impulse was premature at best, rash at worst.

“May I come in?” Alice whispered.

“Of course.” Surprised—and filled with hope—Alana turned and poured her sister a mug of wine. She handed it to her, taking one for herself. Alice hesitated and Alana sat on the bed, leaving room for Alice to join her.

But she did not. “I have come to thank you for everything that you have done for me, my sister and our mother.”

“I do not need or want your thanks,” Alana began.

“No!” Alice cried. “You defied Iain to get us to Father before he died, and then you had him rescue me, putting him at great peril. And you went with him—putting yourself in peril, too. You are brave and good and I was so mean to you.”

They were forging a truce, Alana thought with excitement, with hope. “I am not brave, Alice, I was very frightened, but not as much for myself as for Iain.”

“You love him, truly?”

Alana inhaled. “He is the only man I have ever loved.” Alana felt herself begin to blush. She looked down. “He is the only man I have ever been with.”

Alice sat down beside her. “Then you must truly love him.”

“I do.”

“But we hardly know one another. Why, Alana? Why risk his life for me?”

“You are my sister, even if we are strangers.” How she wanted Alice to understand.

But Alice shook her head. “But you pledged your fealty to Robert Bruce. How could you be so loyal to me and so disloyal to our family? I cannot understand.”

Alana wet her lips, wondering how she could explain. She finally said, “Have you heard that I am a witch?”

Alice paled, her eyes widening. “Is this a jest?”

“No. I have visions of the future, Alice, and I have had them since I was a small child. Our father gave me some land for a dowry, but no man would have me, because of my visions.”

Alice’s eyes were as huge as saucers. “Did Father know?”

“Yes.” She smiled, but it felt tight and odd. “I am a bastard and a witch. When I was eight, our uncle gave Brodie to Duncan, and made me his ward. I have grown up unwanted and unloved, as well as ostracized and shunned. The exception, of course, being my grandmother.”

“But Lady Fitzhugh isn’t really your grandmother.”

“No, she is not. But she has always loved me as if we are flesh and blood.”

Alice was shaken. “I grew up with two doting parents, with nurses and maids, with silks and velvet...always knowing that I would one day marry a fine nobleman with titles and lands.”

“Yes,” Alana said softly. “You are so fortunate. I did what I had to do in order to regain my mother’s lands, Alice. It was a horrible decision to make, but now, I have no regrets—Brodie is all that I have.”

“We have had such different lives,” Alice mused. Her eyes darkened. “It isn’t really fair. But you do not seem bitter.”

“I have been bitter. At times, I have been jealous and resentful.”

Alice suddenly laid her hand on her arm. “If you were truly resentful, you would not have defied Iain to take us to Elgin, and you would have let me suffer at Buchan’s hands.”

Alana shook her head. “I was his prisoner once. I was afraid for you—I could not bear it if you had suffered as I did.”

“I am so sorry I was mean to you when we first met. Alana, I was the jealous one then.”

“What could you have been jealous of?”

Alice shrugged helplessly. “Father told us about you. He told us he loved you. I was afraid of you—afraid Father loved you more.”

Alana was in disbelief. Sir Alexander had told her sisters that he loved her! She realized that some small vulnerable part of her had been in doubt over his last words. But her father had genuinely loved her.

She gave in to impulse. She hugged her sister briefly. To her surprise, Alice hugged her back. Then she stood up. “Can we begin anew? As friends? As sisters?”

“Yes,” Alana answered, feeling dazed. But didn’t every coin have two sides? Didn’t the phoenix rise from the ashes? For now, it seemed as if her father’s death was giving her a family after all. “Alice? I made a promise to our father that I would keep you safe. I am going to do everything in my power to get you to England.”

“That would be wonderful...but you will defy Iain yet again? For us?”

“I am a woman of my word,” Alana said. “And I believe he will find it in his heart to forgive me.” She somehow knew her words to be true.

But what about Robert Bruce? He would not be pleased if she helped her sister, a valuable hostage, to escape. Alana feared Bruce’s anger—but she must help her sisters and Lady Joan, anyway.

Alice was suddenly tearful. She smiled and put down her mug. “You are truly my sister!” she exclaimed, hugging her again. She stepped back. “It is late. I should return to my bed.” She went to the door, and then paused. Very seriously, she faced her again. “Alana? I would never marry him, not when you love him so.”

Alana exhaled in relief.

* * *

T
HE
SPRING
TURNED
warm, the days lengthened and another week passed, but with agonizing slowness, ending with a terrible jolt. For Alana received a missive from Iain, one filled with ill tidings. Sir John Mowbray had violated his truce with Bruce, and had brought a great army to Elgin to relieve it from Iain’s siege. Iain could not predict how long it would now take for Elgin to fall—or if Buchan’s stronghold would actually capitulate.

Alana was despondent. She was sick and tired of the war. And while Margaret seemed oblivious to the news—she was still grieving over their father’s death—Alice was pleased. They were becoming friends now, but nothing could change the fact that they remained on opposite sides of the war. Alice did not want Elgin to fall. She wanted Bruce’s defeat, even if she never spoke openly about it.

Yet somehow, their new friendship blossomed. Long walks outdoors turned into long conversations, mostly about Sir Alexander, and his virtues, his character and his life. Alana finally began to understand the man that her father had been—a man of honor, a man of courage, with great strengths, and some weaknesses. And she loved him more.

The sisters began to spend the evenings together before the fire in the great hall, sipping wine and hoping for the war’s end. Alana learned that Alice was intrigued by a young nobleman she had met once, a few years ago—Henry de Beaumont. When she spoke of him, her blue eyes sparkled and lit up.

All the women plotted together, trying to find a course to help Joan and her daughters flee to England. Alana knew that it must appear as if she were innocent in this plot, as if her sisters and Joan had escaped her, as well as Iain, so that Bruce would not hold her to blame.

By week’s end, Joan had written a dozen letters to English noblemen opposed to Bruce, begging for their assistance. She wrote the letters in private so no one could claim that Alana knew of them. Joan then bribed the two messengers with gold to deliver the missives for her—so it was as if Alana did not know of the conspiracy to escape.